The web is spun tightly by the spider. It crawls our memories, creating nodes and connections to them. The spider spins eternally; making us who we are, letting us remember and ponder. The spider crawls across the strings to attach a new memory, close to the inside of the web, his spinnerets moving with a rhythm. Drum beats and strange cacophony sounds made up the music to which he spun. The sounds cause the web to reverberate, and a small mistake is made. The spider moves quickly to fix this light error in the memory of someone’s life. At least someone the spider will never meet, for he must always spin the web further and further, until it is large enough to capture the man attached to those memories. Then it will take the strength from him, and choose a newborn human, for it’s next web, of course.

My life has been long, and always bloody. I’m not like most people you might meet on the street. I don’t have a mother or a father. Any family to speak of really. I had a Teacher, a Trainer, and a Commander. This was my family.

The day that I came into being, I first met my Teacher. He greeted me, showing me the outside world, and many realms. That day he taught me to speak, read, and write in every language known to our people. This was a gift we all had, a mind built for language, learning, tactics, and strategy.

The next day, I met my Trainer. He presented me with a long sword, and told me that it was my life. Without the sword I would not exist, and without me, the sword would not exist. Our souls were intertwined, and it felt like an extension of my body more than a weapon. I spent that day sparing with my kinsmen, perfecting my sword technique. The next day he trained me with a variety of weapons for many worlds and many times.

On the third day of this life, I met my Commander. He reviewed my training, and said that I had excellent technique, and more power than most new borns. He gave me a pistol, told me that I would be in the infantry to start, but I would rise fast. Then he sent me back to my Teacher, who spent the next 3 days teaching me tactics and strategy.

On the sixth day, the Teacher began to teach me magic. I picked up on offensive and defensive styles quickly, and he sent me to my Commander with a scroll in hand. He had recommended that my entry to the battlefield be delayed, so that I might perfect some magical techniques. The Commander agreed to this, and my deployment was delayed by seven days.

On the seventh day, I was allowed to rest and reflect. Having only been alive for six days, which were all spent training and learning, all I had to reflect on were the skills I had been taught. I spent the seventh day planning out huge battles in my head and practicing defensive and illusionary magics.

For the next week, I spent my mornings with my Teacher learning theory and magic, and my evenings with my Trainer, constantly sparing. Again, I was allowed to rest on the seventh day, but was told that I would join the others in battle the following morning.

I fought on the front lines, with an infantry one thousand strong. We clashed with gruesome beasts, for a reason I knew not. I had a bloodlust, I enjoyed the slaughter, so I did not ask for what we fought. The battles continued without rest for what I can only imagine was many years. I rose in rank, soon managing my own troop of one hundred. Even though I was in command, I always took point, leading my soldiers.

My battle prowess was noticed by my superiors and I was called off the battlefield to meet with my Commander once again. He told that I was to be the guard of a very important man, Malachai of the Azure. I was to guard him as if his life were my own. He took me to the estate of Malachai, introduced us, then stepped out of my life, or so I thought.

Serving as Malachai’s personal guard was not as glorious as I had imagined. He was a dull man, that spoke only of things for which I did not care. It was a boring assignment, and my bloodlust went unsated. There were few attempted on his life, and they were never very talented assassins. To try and cope with my loss of worthy opponents, I began to listen to Malachai’s talks with his guests, fellow courtesans and politicians.

My mind developed beyond battle, and I began to read the books in the estate in my free time. After a while, I was tempted by that ever so troublesome word; “why.” After many years of thought and observance, I asked Malachai for a leave to see my old Commander. I needed to know why I had fought for so long. What reason had I killed for?

The Commander was still there, where I had first met him. I asked him the questions I had long pondered. Why did we fight, and what did we fight for? To my surprise, he became enraged. He took my pistol, and began chanting a spell. I stood, awestruck, watching him. He stopped chanting and touched the hilt of my sword. An intense pain ran through my body, and the world turned black and red as I fell unconscious.

When I awoke, I was lying in a large, blackened crater. My skin burnt, and my wings torn to shreds, I ached with pain. I felt fear, confusion, and loneliness for the first time. Shaking, battling these new emotions, and the pain in my body I walked away from the crater.

I examined myself, glad to see my sword still strapped to my side. I had burns and bruises all over my body, and my wings were barely there at all. I focused my mind, and created a healing aura around myself. I could tell I was beginning to heal, but even that hurt, and soon I passed out from the pain.

The pain was mostly gone when I awoke. I looked at the world around me for the first time. It was a strange place, like I had never seen in all of my years of battle. I walked aimlessly for days. I began to feel a curling in my stomach that was new to me. I soon reached a small settlement, where the farmers agreed to giving me room and board for chopping wood and tilling their fields. They wanted to hear my stories over and over around the table at night. They were not like me or my kinsmen. They were smaller, with ears that sharpened to a tip. They did not know of the land from which I had come.

After a few weeks with the farmers, I decided to move along to the next town, to see if I could find answers to my questions. I was a nomad for many years, reading what I could, and listening to the stories of many a people. Everyone wanted to hear my stories, but none could offer me the answers I so desperately wanted. So, I would travel on.

I’ve just posted the 3rd piece of The Tribe of the Star, on HubPages. It is post-apocalyptic science fiction, and may form into a novella. In this piece we meet Malig-Jon’s cousin, the courier, Runa Dag.

This is the 26th section of my novel. If you haven’t read the first 25, you might want to start here.

Jane’s Journey
—-

In the astral world, Jane’s soul was exploring. She saw the pyramids of Egypt in their greatest glory. She flew over Atlantis, populated by ethereal glowing balls, that she could only assume had once been something like human.

In this level of consciousness, she could move at the speed of thought. Was this alacrity in it’s first stages? She wasn’t really sure at all.

In all of these wild and wondrous places, she felt like an observer. No one seemed to notice that she was there, even when she tried to get their attention(which she did. Often.). Even without interaction, she was learning much by observing.

She could sink her soul down to the material realm and fly through cities. People using magic, or even attempting to, shot up lights like a beacon. Jane would fly to these beacons and watch the people. Sometimes it was someone walking down the street, and she couldn’t tell what was causing the light. Other times, people would clearly be focusing on an antiqued and mundane spell of sorts.

Every now and then, as she floated through the streets of large cities, people would see her. They would give her funny looks and walk off. Children would smile and giggle. Dogs would bark at her. Sleeping cats would send their astral selves to her hands, floating lazily in the air, until she would stroke their oddly soft fur. It was an odd feeling, petting these not so real cats.

Jane thought of all the Earthly places she had always wanted to see. She visited them one by one. She thought of places that had disappeared with time. She visited them as well. She was experiencing history.

When Jane realized this, she also realized that she was not bound by time here. She could watch the past, and to an extent, the future.

She watched as hundreds of men built the great wall of China. She saw the Berlin Wall torn down. Julius Caesar died a bloody death before her. Yeshua ben Yoseph preached his new ideas to a crowd of Romans and Isrealites. Years later a man named Paul would twist words and confuse people with the teachings of ben Yoseph.

Jane could see beyond that. She could see the tiny bluish-white lines that tied all of these people to their history and to their destiny. She could see that undeserved pain was sometimes necessary for the world to grow. She thought it was odd that the history of the world so often hinged on one person. One person’s self-sacrifice to appease the lonely astrals.

She was getting tired. Very tired. Astral travel taxed her physical constitution. She needed to sleep. She thought of her body and of Minus’ basement. She closed her eyes, and could feel the rapid movement. When she opened her eyes, she was not in her body, but instead, inside a large building filled with books. Thousands and thousands of books.

“Fuck. What? Where am I? Is this the Akashic Library?”

A booming masculine voice answered her. “Some beings call it that. But it is so much more. Welcome to my home, Jane De la Moore.”

She went silent with shock. Someone could see and hear her! She felt a sensation of shear excitement. If she had been in her body, her heart would be racing.

“I am the Keeper,” the voice boomed again. She saw a robed and hooded figure coming down a set of stairs to her left. “This is my home. You are welcome to use my library. I have expected you for some time.”